Urmeaza
by 332249
Summary: Jay just wants her life back. But IT is still following her, and IT never stops. Dean just wanted a little fun for the night. But his dad never covered THIS in the condom lecture... (no explicit content)
1. Who Should it be?

Who should it be...? Who should it be? Who looks like he deserves what she had to give him? That asshole who started her down this path wasn't wrong: she was pretty enough that she had no trouble finding someone willing to have sex with her. Especially when she went looking in dives like this wearing a little something slinky. But she didn't want just anyone; it had to be the right someone.

There.

Good looking guy with a devil may care gleam in his eye; handsome and clearly a man who liked his company for the night. His accent made it obvious he wasn't from around here. She couldn't quite place where it was from, but that just made it more likely that he traveled a lot. That was good. The further he moved along down the road after, the better. Icing on the cake? When his beat up jacket rose up an inch or two while bending over the pool table, a gun sat in his belt at the small of his back visible for only a second. A man who could take care of himself. Or at least, a man who stood a fighting chance.

She wished she was better at this.

Actually, she wished a lot of things.

Hips rolling in what she hoped was a sexy stroll, Jay ambled up to her pick. "Buy a girl a drink?" she asked in as sultry a voice as she could manage.

His pool opponent (and sore loser) leered at her; well, more accurately at her breasts. He didn't seem to have much interest in her face, that was for sure. "Hey there, pretty lady. I got some cash still. More than enough to buy a sweet little thing like you."

Buy her. Not buy her a drink. Did she really come off like a prostitute? Jay couldn't cover the flinch at the barfly's words.

"Back off, Ernie," her pick drawled, stepping in between her and the sore loser.

Ernie seemed to know he was better off letting things go. She wasn't the only one to catch a glimpse of the polished nickel against his back that night.

A small shot of whiskey and a seat at a small table in the corner did much to settle her nerves.

"So." The fellow began, studying her intently. "On the rebound or trying to piss off the ex?"

Jay wished she had another shot. Maybe a bigger one this time. He slid his glass in front of her, as though he could read her mind. Gratefully, she threw it back too. The liquor burned all the way down and made her nose water.

"Sweetheart, don't get me wrong. I am always up for sexy times. And I don't mind being the hot mysterious stranger," he continued, still watching her for reaction. "But this ain't your usual scene. Are you sure you want to be doing this?"

"What? People have casual sex all the time." Her voice sounded small and uncomfortable in her own ears.

"Some people, sure." The guy leaned back in his seat, giving her some space. Instantly, she relaxed a notch. "Not you," he added. "So, I ask again. Rebound or pissing him off?"

Paul's face flashed in front of her eyes. Sweet, loving Paul. Dead Paul, because of her. Water welled in her eyes as she choked out the word, "Rebound." After a moment of struggle with the tears, warm calloused fingers slid under her hand, putting a bandanna in it. Looking up, she found green eyes warm with sympathy.

"How long ago did he die?"

Die. Because this was so much more than being dumped or cheated on that even the half-drunk barfly could see right through her. God. "Not long," she admitted. The bandanna soaked up some of the moisture, but more would come. Good thing it was so much sturdier than a tissue.

"Then why are you here?"

God. Why did he have to be so nice? At this point she almost preferred the creepy sore loser. "I- I just- I want to forget. I want this whole nightmare to be over. I want him back alive. I want to make love to someone and pretend I never lost him." Tears escaped from their source, only to be dabbed away by the old bandanna.

A third shot slid across the table to her. Liquor hit her empty stomach and went straight to her head. A lightweight like her? She was drunk at the second shot.

Across from her, her pick for the night sat tapping on his smartphone. When he put the electronic away, his hand came back out with a pen. "I ordered a taxi to take you home. You're in no shape to be driving," he told her. Pen moved over a bar napkin, then bar napkin slid across the table to her hand. Scrawled on the napkin was a name, Dean, and a phone number. "Go home. Think about what you really want. What he would really want for you. If you still want someone to come over and make you forget for one night, call me. But... Sweetheart, if you hang around a place like this in the shape you're in, someone and their roofies will take the decision away from you."

Jay shuddered, remembering all too well the asshole and his rag of chloroform.

Dean and his damn perceptive green eyes probably noticed that, too.

Time passed until the taxi arrived, filled with bar bowl pretzels munching, jokes and stories. He did all the talking. She let the sound wash over her; pretended her life was some semblance of normal. Taxi arrived to take her home and her pick of the night loaded her into it.

Home.

What a joke. She wasn't safe here, not for long. Not with It following her. Always following.

She gave it an hour. An hour should be enough to show him that she thought about it, that she knew what she was doing. Did she know what she was doing? Yes, she was doing what she had to. It was the only way. Right?

Across town, a cellphone rang.

"Dean? Its Jay, rebound girl...?"


	2. Coffee and Carrots

The aroma of hot coffee nearly woke him up all on its own. Nostrils twitched, identifying the brew: strong or weak, straight or girly blend, Starbucks or motel room coffee maker. If the answer wasn't strong, straight, Starbucks then Dean Winchester wasn't getting out of bed yet.

At least that was the plan until the world's best and most annoying little brother threw the curtains open; hitting the world's best and most awesome big brother in the face with the sun's morning brilliance.

"Gahh-nn!" Dean groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. Making no other movement to get up, he found articulation. "I hate you. Jerk."

An amused smirk tugged at Sam's lips over the reversal of the brothers' usual favored endearments. "Whiny little bitch."

The arm blocking the sunlight lifted enough for green eyes to glare out from the shadows underneath. "Why are you up so early?"

"Its ten. Ten is not early. Ten is as late as you can sleep in and not get charged another day for the room."

"mmft," Dean grunted, loosing articulation again. Nostrils twitched again as the coffee aroma was waved under his nose. Blindly the free and sought the source of the smell. It must be nearby.

Starbucks retracted beyond reach. "Dude, seriously. Shower. Shave. Toothpaste that morning breath. And load up on prophylactics while you're in there."

Underneath the sunblock arm, a well-sated smile bloomed at the memory of the previous night.

"Don't. I'm sure she was hot. I don't want to know more. I really don't want to hear the blow-by-blow post game report."

Dean took a breath in preparation to speak.

"I will dump your coffee down the sink," Sam threatened.

Dean let out the breath soundlessly. After a moment he muttered, "Vacation."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. Before ruthlessly yanking the blankets away. "Deal was, I drag you to the farmer's market and arts show this morning, you drag me to the Clutch concert the evening. The market opened at seven. I let you sleep in. But I'm done being nice. Get. Up!"

Defeat was conceded amid intelligible muttering, cursing, and the eventual spray of hot water.

...

Not a full hour later, the brothers found themselves amid tents and canopies surrounded by squash blossoms, cucamelons, mulberries and other foodstuffs that Dean wouldn't put in his mouth if you paid him.

"Yo Sammy. The carrots over here are purple. I know I don't eat a whole lot of your rabbit food, but I'm pretty sure carrots are supposed to be orange." An expression of uncertainty crossed his face. "Or... do carrots turn orange when you cook them or something? Because all I can think is: Why would someone dye carrots purple?"

A smile fought its way to Sam's lips, but laughing at his brother meant pay back and the eventual prank war that would follow. So heroically, Sam forced his mirth back down.

The middle aged farmer's wife had no such reason to hold back her laughter. "It's not dye, kiddo. Some strains just come in other colors. Here." The woman rummaged around until she came up with a peeler. In short order, she striped the carrot in question of its outer layer and handed it over to Dean. "Try one."

This time Sam did snort at the dubious look on Dean's face.

Bravely, the older Winchester accepted the proffered vegetable.

"Well?" the lady demanded.

"Its tastes like carrot," Dean admitted as he chewed.

"I'm surprised you know what raw carrot tastes like, Dean." Sam couldn't resist teasing his brother. To the stall proprietress, Sam explained, "He's mostly cheeseburgers and beer anymore."

Dean turned to shoot a dirty look at his brother when it caught his eye: a guy staring at him. It was just a man, and yet... There was something other that triggered the Hunter's instincts. Without conscious thought or even full understanding of why, muscles coiled and breath smoothed out to be light (consequently harder for predators to track him by, yay purgatory.) He allowed the vegetables to fall away from thought until his awareness expanded to take in the threat and his surroundings.

That was it, Dean realized, that was what was bothering him about the guy: the crowd around him. By himself, he just looked like any other random homeless guy: ragged layers of clothing and disheveled white hair. But none of the yuppie vegetarians reacted to him. No one edged around him uncomfortably or boldly walked up to him to offer help. It was as though the crowd casually refused to acknowledge his presence.

The man stared directly at Dean, not blinking, taking as little notice of the throng as they did of him. All the while walking slowly forward. Yet somehow, no one jostled him. No one crowded his space. It was as though he had his own personal bubble of invulnerability to the people around him. No one took notice of him except for the unthinking avoidance of his progress.

"Sam." One word, layers of meaning: warning, danger, be ready, unidentified threat. Tactical decision required: fight or flight? Civilians to manage.

"Dean?" Situation acknowledged. Identify target.

"Old dude. Needs to take a picture, it'll last longer. Twelve o' clock." Eyes never left the threat.

Sam looked, moving to stand shoulder to shoulder. He saw trendy college kids with their backpacks taking a break from dorm walls. He saw young adults, carrying reusable grocery bags doing their part to support local growers. He saw grandmother pushing baby strollers for the exercise and the fresh air. He saw vendors hawking their wares.

Glancing down at his brother, he followed the older man's sight line to... nothing.

Most people who saw nothing out of the ordinary would relax. Maybe tell their friend they were seeing things or making more out of the situation than was warranted. Even some Hunters who should know better would be tempted to. Sam and Dean Winchester were not most people. If anything, not seeing what Dean saw made Sam more nervous.

"I got nothing, Dean."

"Walking right at me, slow and creepy dramatic. Won't stop staring." Dean's mind began to whirl through possibilities. "I can see it. You can't. Fairy?"

Memories of the last time Dean saw something that Sam didn't flitted through his mind's eye. Sam smirked. "Do we need to go find a giant microwave?"

"Shut up," Dean groused. "And maybe. Know where to find one?"

"I see a dark alley." Sam offered instead.

"Awesome. Let's go set ourselves up to get jumped."


	3. Disbelief

Disbelief is a monster's best friend. Refusal to acknowledge the truth allows a human being to ignore the frisson of fear running up his spine, to close his eyes and tell himself that what he knows just can't be so. And while he is standing there, eyes squeezed shut against life's harsh realities, monsters eat their fill.

Disbelief also leads to an inevitable lack of knowledge. No one busy begging the universe "Please, God, make it all not true!" takes the time to write all that they know of that which plagues them. Why would they? Who would they tell? Who would listen?

Only those trapped in the same nightmare.

Jay lay in her bed, the bed she once shared with Paul. The same bed that now smelled of another man. Dean. whispered what was left of her conscience. His name is Dean. His name WAS Dean, until you killed him.

An old bandanna sat on her nightstand, crumpled in a ball. Who knew such a battered, threadbare piece of cloth could hold proof of such vast amounts of emotion? Tears of mourning a lover. Sweat of old terrors coming back to haunt her. Mountains of guilt for what she had done. A bandanna in lieu of a tissue, given in honest kindness to a stranger in a bar.

 _"Are you sure?"_ he has asked. _"My brother calls me a jerk all the time, but I'm not that big of a jerk. Tell me no, and I'll stop. Tell me what you need..."_

She hadn't told him no. Jay called, Dean came, no other question except to make sure that was what she really wanted. Their night together had been tender and sweet, and every bit as good as he promised he'd make it. Oh, so good. He made no promises about what would happen tomorrow, but he kept her in that moment with him. Thinking of nothing else past the feel of skin on skin.

Tears now stood in her eyes, arms wrapped around a pillow that wasn't Paul. Or even Greg.

Now only a stranger stood between her and the danger. Should she try to tell him what she'd done? Warn him to run? Why would he believe her?

Disbelief was a monster's best friend.

Some small part of heart forgave Hugh (or Jeff Redmond, since that was his real name) for doing this to her. Because... Was she any better? Hugh, for all his faults, tried to warn her; tried to tell her the truth. Tried to make her abandon her disbelief.

At the end of the night, when she wanted to be alone, when Dean slipped away to sleep on his own bed; Jay lay there and had said nothing. A night's reprieve from her living nightmare bought with sex and silence, at the cost of bitter guilt and a nice man's life.

Sobs caught in her throat when once she thought it was over and no more tears would be needed. "He wouldn't believe me," she whispered to herself, to her pillow, to her conscience. "He wouldn't believe me, he wouldn't believe me."

Repeat a lie often enough and it becomes your truth.

Disbelief is a monster's best friend.

Disbelief is a survivor's torture.

"He wouldn't believe me," she whispered again.

At barely a hundred and twenty pounds, Jay couldn't hope to do what Hugh had done to convince her: chloroform Dean, tie him to a wheelchair, drive him to abandoned warehouse, and wait for IT to make an appearance, then run. She couldn't lift his dead weight onto the chair, let alone in and out of a car. Where does a normal person get chloroform, anyway? Or find an abandoned warehouse? Or even a wheelchair?

But maybe... Maybe she didn't need him to _believe_ her.

Jay leapt from the bed and began to pace around the room, thoughts suddenly in a whirl. Paul had saved them both for all this time, not by making people believe him, but by spreading this mess far and wide. Choosing women who would spread their little problem even further, passing the buck down the line. Maybe that's all she needed: to get this Dean person to do the same.

Terrible hope flared.

Maybe she could help move things along. Maybe she could even buy Dean some time in the process.


	4. Playlists and Prostitutes

"Now I have no fear in the dark of night..." Dean sang out from behind the closed bathroom door. "I run to the arms of Our Lady of Electric Lights."

Clearly, his brother had enjoyed the Clutch concert. Sam was glad they decided to go after all. It had been a toss up after the probably-a-fairy didn't try to jump them in the alley earlier that day. The Hunters had pulled a short a research stint to see if there was a problem that sounded like fairies going on around here, but Detroit was a big city. Since they didn't have bodies on the ground yet, the brothers decided the rest of the research could wait until morning.

Sam should have known when the name of the band first came up how much Dean was going to enjoy himself. Because it wasn't one of their dad's musical choices. This band was all Dean's preference, with its driving rock beat and a little bit of blues mixed throughout.

Sam shook his head and loaded the new CD into the laptop. The Impala wouldn't play CDs because a certain someone stubbornly refused to change out the tape deck to something more modern. If anyone wanted tunes in the car that wasn't one of the cassette collection, or didn't want to be at the mercy of the local radio stations, it fell to Sam to rip a copy into his iPod. If he was feeling generous, he would give Dean a digital copy for his phone.

When he wasn't feeling generous, he mixed Dean's favorites into playlists guaranteed to make the older man complain. (Because that what little brothers are for, right?) Though it was a delicate balance, crafting the perfect playlist. There had to be enough songs Dean really liked so that he wouldn't demand it be turned off, but there also had to be songs Dean _hated_. (So Sam could snicker silently while Dean winced.) Sprinkled with mutually appreciated songs, of course.

Today's pick to torment big brother included a reprise of "Sugar Shack" and "Ballad of Bilbo Baggins" performed by Leonard Nemoy, of all people. No matter how much of a closet Lord of the Rings and original series Star Trek fan Dean was, this rendition would drive him up the wall.

A knock at the door interrupted diabolical little brother planning. Snapping his lap top shut, Sam grabbed a gun to check the door. No one ever knew what to expect when answering a motel room door, but in their experience it was motel staff, cops, or monsters.

That wasn't what waited for him on the other side of the cheap wooden door: tousled blond hair above a sultry come-hither smile, black backless halter top, cherry red micro mini skirt, incredibly high heels. (Heels tall enough she could look Sam in the neck instead of the chest.)

"Hey, Baby." She greeted, strutting into the room with exaggerated rolls of her hips. "It must be your birthday or something, because to get to unwrap me for the night."

Of course, that was the moment Dean chose to come out of the bathroom. Green-eyed gaze flicked over the scene, taking in the scantily clad woman already making herself comfortable on the bed. "Dude, if you need the room to yourself for a while, let me know ahead of time so I can clear out before she gets here. I thought we established that years ago."

Sam threw the pissed bitch-face at him. He knew that Dean knew that this wasn't Sam's idea; that something else was going on here. Both brothers subscribed to the 'no cash for ass' policy when it came to sex, for so many reasons.

"Whoa, hold on, now." The woman's posture shifted into defensive and her face hardened. "I was told I had a date with someone named Dean. Nobody mentioned double-booking or threesomes. That costs extra, and I'm only paid up for one. Whichever one of you is Dean, either pay the difference or tell your friend to take a walk."

Brothers shared a confused, searching look before Dean took the lead.

"I'm Dean, but I didn't order entertainment for the night. Who gave you my name and fronted the cash?"

"Sorry, Honey, a girl never kisses and tells. It's bad for business." The woman fluffed her hair a bit and put the smoldering look back on her face. She was quite the actress. "So, we gonna do this or what? It's already paid for."

"Bad for business, huh?" Dean nodded like he understood and began to rummage in his jacket pockets.

A lifetime or backing each other's plays had Sam doing the same thing.

Both brothers held up their respective fake FBI badges.

"Feds?!" the woman shrieked, furious. "Goddammit! This is entrapment!"

"Someone's getting set up here, sister, and I don't think its you." Dean flipped the leather wallet closed. "Let's try this again. Who hired you?"

"I don't know. We don't ask for names and we don't give 'em." The woman folded her arms across her chest, still nervous about getting busted.

"Oh, come on," Sam scoffed. "You can tell us more than that."

She rolled her eyes. "Some white girl, scared as a rabbit to be on our block. Scrawny thing, light brown hair. Probably legal to drink, but not much over that. We all thought she was lost until she started asking if we delivered. Most of the working girls got twitchy about the job, something wasn't right about that rabbit, but its been slow for me, ya know? And the money was good. It sounded safe enough."

"Sent you to me by name?" Dean clarified.

"Yeah, said the name Dean and gave me a motel room number," the woman agreed. "Look, that's all I know, okay? Can I walk?"

Dean held a fifty dollar bill up, catching the woman's eyes. "Take the night off."

She snatched the bill and fled the room.

"Who knows we're here?" Sam wondered out loud. "Why would they send you a hooker?"

Eyebrows crinkled in thought. "Jay. The girl from last night. I mentioned the hotel and the door number. Don't ask me why she'd send Julia Roberts over here."

"Two weirds in one day. What are the odds they're _not_ related?"

Dean groaned. He knew that answer to that one: they're _always_ related. "I guess we need to have a talk with that Jay chick in the morning."


	5. Uh Hello

Glass shards imploded into the room, jarring both Hunters instantly awake.

Sam rolled to his feet away from the noise putting the bed and more distance between whatever happened next. The gun that slept under his pillow in hand, he stood tall with shoulders wide and squared, ready to shoot whatever had come for them.

In the same moments, Dean rolled to his feet towards the noise, becoming a massive obstacle between whatever came next and his brother. The wickedly sharp knife that slept under his pillow in hand, he stood with his shoulders rolled in and his body tight and smaller, ready to grapple up close and personal.

The cheap wooden door shuddered and all but blew off its hinges with another loud bang. Splinters and shards erupted in a cloud of dust. A couple screws pinged off of the floor.

The gun twitched ever so slightly, its owner trying to aim for the danger but coming up short with a target. His best option was to stay loose and ready to react when the mysterious something finally decided to show itself. It only took a heartbeat of adrenaline to notice that his brother didn't have the same open stance.

Dean stared hard at the being visible to him through the damage, waiting for it to come to him before the fight was on. A Hunter had the home field advantage in his own room and could control the innocent bystander fallout better than he could in open parking lot.

"Dean?" One word, but still a lot of information flowing. I don't see what you are looking at. How do you want to play this? Are we fighting or running?

"You don't see her?" Dean demanded, making sure.

Hazel gaze flicked around the room, reassessing. "I got nothing."

"I got a naked Japanese chick staring right at me." As Dean watched, she paced left and right, never stopping, never breaking eye contact; but unwilling to take one step closer to her quarry and into the room.

The room's air conditioner choose that moment to kick on, fighting a loosing battle to cool the room against the sudden influx of warm night air. The rickety old unit have enough oomph to scatter a few grains of salt out of the line across the doorway. Hissing in displeasure, the Japanese woman stepped backwards for the first time. Small wisps of smoke unfurled around the exposed skin of her bare feet. Quickly she resumed her pacing, giving only enough ground to spare herself the discomfort.

Sam's eyes widened when the smoke appeared. The gun instantly began to track four feet above the small telltale signs of the supernatural. At least now he had some kind of target.

Knowing without needed to look that Sam had his back, Dean risked a glance away from the woman to assess the room's defenses.

A generous line of salt circled the entire room against every wall, doorway and window: still intact. Inside that, another circle of cat's eye shells provided another layer of protection: also intact. On the wall above the two lines a series of enochian wardings wrapped the room in a third layer of protection. The brother didn't often set up all three; usually salting the doors and windows was enough to let them sleep. But with an unidentified threat usually interested in one and invisible to the other, they decided to go all out for once. Just in case.

They weren't still alive by accident.

"Doesn't like salt much," Dean observed.

"Is she counting the grains?" Sam demanded, still working blind.

"Nope. Pacing outside the circle and glaring at me," Dean reported.

"Okay, so not a fairy."

"She looks a little like a character from one of my anime shows," Dean realized. "Come to think of it, the bum from this morning looked a little familiar, too. I can't place how, but its been bugging me."

"Okay. So are we thinking this woman is the same thing as the guy this morning?" Sam's mind sorted through the possibilities. "Some kind of shapeshifter that's pulling its appearance out of your head? Like how a siren looked like whatever your type was?"

"Possible," Dean allowed. "Someone heard the noise. How much time do you think we have before the cops get here? Five minutes?"

"Dude, do you read the other articles in the newspaper at all? Or do you stick with the sports and comics?" Sam teased. Yeah, there might be an unidentified monster standing on the other side of a salt line ready to tear them into little pieces. But that was the average tuesday for monster hunting brothers like them. If Sam didn't tease him in the middle of a hunt, we would he ever get the time? "This is Detroit. Average response time around here is eleven minutes, and that's only if someone needs an ambulance. In this neighborhood? For a simple B&E? More like seventeen."

"What?! That's ridiculous. A lot can happen in seventeen minutes. Your normal human bad guy can cover a mile and change on foot in that amount of time." Dean shook his head in disbelief. "How do cops around here catch anyone?"

Sam shrugged. He didn't exactly disagree with the sentiment. "Hey, a few years ago it used to be forty-five. It was a big scandal around here when the numbers hit the news."

"Awesome. Okay. Pass me the salt gun. I'll keep an eye on short, slim and skanky over here while you pack our crap. When we're good to go, I pump her so full of rock salt that she craps margaritas while you get the car in gear. Then we hot rod out of here before Skanky gets up and the cops get here. We need to know what we're dealing with here before we throw down. Sound like a plan?"

Sam shoved his feet into the largest pair of boots so he could move around the sharp glass. "Where are we headed?"

"I guess that little chat with Jay shouldn't wait 'til morning."


	6. Knock Knock

A knock at the door.

So many things begin with a knock at the door. Things that run the whole gamut of human emotions: unrestrained joy of the Publisher's Clearing House lottery winners, the contentment of greeting a group for a girls night out, the polite boredom of refusing a salesman or a Jehovah's Witness, the worry over a lawyer's summons, to the broken grief of a new war widow being handed a notice of death. All these things could happen when someone answered their door.

 _"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door,"_ Bilbo famously told his nephew in JJR Tolkien's novels. Jay thought the old hobbit shouldn't have stopped there. He should have added another warning about answering that same door. The road may have lead to the dragon, but answering the door when the dwarf knocked started him on that road.

Her own journey into madness and death and impossible decisions started with a knock at the door, when Hugh picked her up for that damned date. Doors, Jay knew, could be dangerous. Anyone, anything, could knock and you had no way of really knowing who or what was on the other side. Or what they wanted, really wanted, underneath.

Another knock, this time accompanied by a voice. "Jay! Its Kelly!"

The door flung open, and big sister fell into the waiting arms of little sister.

"I started driving as soon as I heard about Paul." Kelly let her sister cling, rubbing her back absently to let her know she wasn't alone.

"It's back," Jay sobbed into the smaller woman's shoulder. "It's back and... Oh God, Paul..."

Kelly's breath hitched tight in her chest. This had always been a possibility, of course. The horrific possibility that made her jump in her car and drive nearly non-stop across country from college when she listened to the shaky words on the other end of the short voicemail.

 _"Kelly- It's Jay. {sniffle} Paul's- Paul died. {hiccuped sob} I can't... I can't do this. Please. I need help."_

"Have you seen It? Do we need to run?" Kelly demanded, ready to pack her only family into her pathetic little beater of a college student car and drive as far and as long as it took. It might not want to kill Kelly, but It wanted to tear apart everything left on this world that meant anything real.

Sobs grew heavier, guilt piling up on grief. The weight of it all crushing all ability to formulate words.

"Jay, sis, talk to me," Kelly urged, brushing greasy hair back from her sister's face. "I can't help until I know what's going on."

"I- I bought some time..." Jay's voice stayed muffled by the solid presence of her sister's shoulder. Partly, because she didn't want to loose this small comfort. Partly, because she was too ashamed to look her in the eye.

"Bought some time? How-?" Realization dawned and something in her stomach plummeted. There was only one way proven to buy time; the same way Paul had bought her sister these past couple of years. She'd slept with someone else. Not even a full day after she must have seen her husband's dead body, she had slept with someone else.

Kelly didn't know what to feel. Relief that her sister wasn't gone yet? Shock that her sister would sentence someone else to this nightmare? Pity that her sister had to whore herself out just to live? Guilt that someone else would die besides her sister? Thankful that her sister could make the hard decision? Scared that her sister could make that same decision? Yeah, she was feeling all of the above. "You passed it on? With who?"

"Dean." Jay choked at the name, choked on her own selfishness and cruelty. "From the bar," she forced herself to continue, forced herself to own what she had done.

"What did you tell him?" Once again, Kelly's only answer was deep, gut-wrenching sobs. "You told him something, right?"

"He wouldn't believe me. You didn't. Not at first." There was no blame in her voice. Truth was truth, after all. "I paid a hooker to pick him up. After."

Another step between her and death. Another death on her conscience.

Kelly pushed all her doubts about morality aside. Practicality was needed now. Practicality and a plan, if she was going to keep her sister. "He doesn't know, so we don't have a lot of time. You are going to pack a bag and we are going to drive back to my dorm. It took me a day and a half speeding the whole way here. Hopefully this thing takes a while to walk across country."

Jay nodded her agreement but made no move to follow her marching orders. Exhaustion was catching up with her and she was so comfortable here in her sister's embrace.

A knock at the door. This one heavier than before, but still politely waiting for invitation.

Both women looked up at the sound intruding on their moments. A glance asked and answered: Who is that? I don't know.

Another knock. Nothing for it but to answer and see what the world had in mind this time.


	7. She gave me a supernatural STD?

Dean knocked again, a little louder this time. It was late, he knew that, but not too late for someone who was the type to cruise the bar scene looking for a good lay. Chances were that she was home and just settling in for the night. Admittedly, one-night stands weren't know for being welcoming the day after. Still, they usually at least answered the front door. If only to tell him off for bothering them (or telling him what a mistake last night was and they never want to see him again).

The door creaked open a few inches until the chain snapped taut. Unfamiliar blue eyes peered out, suspicion clearly written across the face. "What?"

"Is Jay home?" Dean asked, undeterred but the abruptness of her greeting.

"It's late," the unfamiliar woman stated, clearly deflecting his question.

He let his face assume the 'trust me' earnest expression that always seemed to work so well on witnesses. "I know its late. And this is probably a bad time. But I just need a few minutes; its kinda important." A beat later he added, "Please."

The door closed in his face with a snap but the rustling and rattling on the other side said it wouldn't be for long. Dean thought he heard his name in the harsh whispers being passed back and forth. When the door opened this time, it opened all the way. Jay stepped out for a moment, looking all around. The look she gave Sam was one of frank threat assessment, but apparently whatever she found dangerous didn't include extra tall armed Hunter. Her attention returned to her one night stand.

"You've seen It, haven't you?" Jay asked, voice soft and fearful.

"It," Dean repeated, careful to keep his voice nonthreatening. Neither brother wanted to startle their witness or scare her into clamming up on whatever she knew. He couldn't help but notice that she looked worse than she had last night: paler, more drawn, heavy dark bags under both eyes. Sadly, the state of her wasn't a new sight for the veteran hunter. Post-trauma victims and survivors sill under siege carried that same sunken and battered appearance. Careful handling would be required here. "Yeah, I've seen it. Can we talk?"

Jay stepped aside willing enough (though the other woman didn't look happy). Introductions were made all around with Jay seated on her couch, curled into a protective ball with her sister's arm around her shoulders.

Dean sat carefully so as not to spook them. "So. Creepy shape shifting critter that likes to win staring contests..."

"That only Dean can see," Sam added helpfully.

"...that only I can see. And then a hooker sent to my door." Dean cocked his head watching the women intently. "Care to fill in a few blanks? I'm trying to figure out how we got from point A to point B. What is it?"

"I don't know. Something... supernatural," Jay whispered.

Dean chuckled softly. "Yeah, we got that part. Its okay, we believe you; the supernatural is real. This thing isn't part of the vanilla world as you knew it. What _can_ you tell us?"

"It can look like anyone. Whatever gets it close enough to kill you." Jay began, her words stuttering a bit until she got going. "I've never seen it move faster than a walk. It's slow, but its not dumb. I never go into a building that only had one door. It never stops." Tears began to brim and fall. Wordlessly, Dean passed her yet another bandanna. "Three years ago, when this first started, we tried everything we could think of to kill it. We shot it in the head, drowned it in a pool, electrocuted the pool. Nothing even slowed it down. All you can do is run."

"Then what was with the hooker?" Dean asked, still confused on that point.

Jay shook her head miserably, unable to continue.

"It's like a curse." Kelly decided to pick up the story thread. "It, whatever you want to call it, was after this asshole, Jeff. He passed the curse on to Jay by sleeping with her. That's the only way to ditch It: have sex with someone else. Then it goes after that person first. That's what her husband Paul did; he paid for a prostitute. But when It kills everyone down the line, eventually it comes back for you. Paul died two days ago. Jay was next. Until she slept with you, now you're next."

Both brothers' eyebrows rose in surprise at the admission.

"The hooker... Well, the more people you sleep with the safer my sister is. The safer you are."

After a beat, Dean swore, "Damn. That is the world's worst supernatural STD. Think the local health clinic makes a booster shot for that?"

"Dude!" Sam cried, getting angry. "She just signed your death warrant and you're cracking jokes? Seriously?"

"What?" Dean whined. "Its not like its the first time I've been on the chopping block."

"Yeah, its not the first time your libido got you into trouble, either," Sam groused.

"Me? You're the one who had office sex with the doctor chick during the siren case."

"Three words for you Dean: homicidal Amazon spawn." Sam's expression dared his brother to argue. "Remember? You swore off sex after that case?"

"Yeah, that lasted a week," Dean muttered, not quite under his breath.

"Yeah, well, now you're celibate until we figure out how to kill this thing or break the curse or whatever it is." Sam probably shouldn't have enjoyed the look on his brother's face at that order. "No sex, not even if the ex porn star chastity coach offers again. Unless you want to drag someone else into this mess."

"Man!" Dean's face took on the exact expression of a toddler told no more cookies.

"What kind of psychos ARE you people?" Kelly demanded, hugging Jay tighter and shying away. Belatedly, she realized her handgun was in her purse on the other side of the room.

Two brothers turned their attention back to the two sisters. Sam glowered. "Lady, you just admitted that your sister is trying to get my brother killed-"

"I didn't want to die," Jay whimpered, tears openly flowing again. She pulled her face out of the bandanna to look him in the eye, begging for understanding. "That's all. I don't want to die! I didn't know what else to do. What was I supposed to do? Huh? Roll over and let it kill me? I've seen what it does to people. I just want to live. Is that so wrong?"

"Sammy, back off." Dean commanded, drawing his brother's eye. "If you could have broke my Deal by getting some random guy killed, you would have. I'ld have done the same thing for you."

Sam heaved a sigh, knowing his brother was right. They would have.

"Kelly. We're not psychos." Honesty made Dean continue, "Well, not that kind of psycho. The supernatural is real; you've seen a tiny little piece of it. My brother and I hunt monsters. Ghosts, ghouls, vampires, werewolves, witches, everything you never wanted to believe in. If anyone can figure out how to stop this thing, its us."

"But we'll need your cooperation," Sam added.

"You in?"


	8. Monster Hunters reasearch A lot

Professional monster hunting was not at all what Kelly thought it would be. When Dean had asked 'You in?' visions of some kind of hard-core boot camp flashed through her mind. The mental training montage included shooting machine guns, pulling the pin on grenades, throwing knives and learning karate. Then phrases like 'set the wardings around the safe house' sparked another series of imaginings that bounced between a Harry Potter style classroom and Charmed-esque Book of Shadows.

Reality did not meet expectations.

 _"We should find a place to squat where the neighbors won't call the cops when the shooting starts. I'm thinking abandoned warehouse." Dean had told his brother._

 _"Where do we find one of those?" Jay had asked, thinking of her earlier musings._

 _Sam had given her a funny look. "Its Detroit. Throw a stone."_

So here she sat amid the camping gear, surrounded by a ring of salt. The wardings were less Charmed and more West Side Story; spray paint covered every available surface. No magic spells, no cauldron boiling away filled with potions. Just a two minute lecture on the history of salt as a purifying force that deters all manner of evil.

There _were_ guns and knives. The latter were wicked sharp in silver, iron and steel. The former were well-oiled and the stocks stained dark with the sweat from handling. The sisters were given neither. The brothers didn't trust the amateur women to not shoot them on accident, or so Kelly surmised.

There wasn't even a musty old book written in a weird foreign language to be laboriously translated. No bizarrely beautiful iconic illustrations or creepy ink drawings. No, she was handed her own laptop after Sam logged it into the "Bunker Cloud." Somehow, scrolling through scanned images of ancient texts didn't have the same feel of excitement as the book itself would have given her.

THIS was monster hunting? Hours upon hours of research. Sifting through old research papers (Who were the Men of Letters, anyway?) Cataloging monsters that are 'invisible to most' ("No, not a rakshassa. We've already killed one of those.") Taking notes about sex demons. (Eew! Nasty.) Sorting through known witchcraft to identify the curse (Would that spell really work?) Hacking national databases to compile a list of victims with the same cause of death as Paul to track down patient zero (Okay, the hacking thing was kinda cool.)

Not what she expected.

The only reason Kelly was glad they were doing this was that it gave her sister something to do besides cry, run, or wait to die. This was fighting back, taking some control in this nightmare. This was exactly what Jay's mental health needed.

Glass shattered. Kelly barely had time to register the noise before two extra-large body guards snapped up their respective saw-offs and positioned themselves around her and her sister. Being surrounded by that much muscle and firepower was not a bad place to be.

"Dean?" Sam rapped, tense.

Right, Kelly thought, Sam can't see It either.

"Five foot six," Dean reported. His rifle pointed steadily at the window.

Sam's rifle whipped around to track the same space as his brother. He didn't need to see It, he could see Dean. "What's It doing?"

"Like last time, Its stuck behind the salt line. Standing there giving me the evil eye, but It can't cross the wards." Dean groaned. "Oh, and Its flashing me."

Sam blinked. "What?"

"Its a dude again, and Its wearing a hospital gown on backwards. I've got a full frontal I did not want to see," Dean complained, pointedly keeping his gaze above the waist. "Sex monsters, man, no sense of modesty."

Sam could only shake his head.

After a moment, Jay asked shakily, "Now what?"

"It can't get in here. Okay, I vote we stay hunkered down until we know our next move." Cautiously, Sam lowered his gun. "We know we're safe enough for now."

Dean nodded and slowly lowered his weapon, too. "I had a line on something that might get us somewhere. I wanna finish chasing it down. Jay?"

Jay startled. "What?" she squeaked, barely taking her eyes off the monster's newest form. It wasn't even glancing her way, completely focused on him.

"Can you keep an eye on Mr. Open Hospital Gown over here? Just shout out if It does anything besides stand and glare." When she hesitated, Dean added, "Don't worry, sweetheart, we're still locked and loaded and the guns will never be out of reach. It'll take a full minute to get to us from the perimeter. You're fine."

Jay straightened her spine and nodded.

Yep, this was good for her.

It was possibly the most tense twenty minute of Kelley's life, waiting for the other shoe to fall, not being able to see anything or do anything real.

"Yahtzee!" Dean's sudden cry made the whole room jump. "Cel Car-ray Urmeaza. Romanian for That Which Follows. Its not a creature feature, its an honest to god gypsy curse. Apparently, back in the day, some douche bag Brit with a sense of entitlement made the brilliant move of raping a gypsy clan's favorite daughter. Clan got pissed and sicced the Urmeaza on the guy. But not before he went home and slept with his wife, who slept with her man-mistress, who slept with his wife, and so on. All told, like a dozen people died."

"Sounds like our guy," Sam agreed, coming to look over his shoulder. Jay and Kelly crowded around the other. "Does it say how they stopped the thing?"

Dean pointed to the passage. "Says here, the Church isolated the effected, sat back, and let the Urmeaza give the little adulterers what was coming to them."

Sam scowled. "That's not helpful."

"But," Dean held up a finger. "One of the victim's cousin, a Man of Letters, didn't think so either. Sir Scarborough tracked down the clan and bought the counter-curse for the archives. In case it happened again."

Jay gasped, hardly daring to believe she understood this right. "You can get rid of It?"

"Do we have all the ingredients?" Sam demanded.

"Yeah, Sammy, most of this stuff is in the trunk. Wanna hear the catch?"

Sam closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose like he had a sudden migraine. "Of course there's a catch. It's always something. What don't we have?"

"Romani curses and counter-curses can only be made or broken by a Romani. They sold Sir Scarborough a spell he was too white to cast. None of us have the right ethnicity, either."

"Crap!" Sam growled. "Now what?"

"Dude, chill," Dean chided. "We got a fry cook with a bottle of spring water to perform a Japanese blessing on a kitana for that liquor demon. We'll find a Romani to read the magic words while you handle the special herbs and spices. How hard can it be?"


	9. I Brought Beer

"They'd call us gypsies, tramps, and thieves! But every night all the men would come around. And lay their money down!" Dean sang from behind the wheel of the Impala. The song was a local radio station's choice. But the road trip's driver clearly found the irony of the lyrics fun enough to turn the volume up to show his amusement. The driver's brother didn't share that amusement, judging by the death glare emanating from Sam.

Nothing, not Sam's best bitch-face, not even unkillable impending death literally pacing the walls and growling, seemed to bother the man.

Or if it did, it was no where near as much as it bothered Jay. Twenty minutes of watching It stalk the older man shot her nerves all to hell. Yes, the safe house had been safe. Yes, she would have plenty of time to run. No, it wasn't after her yet. But still. She had never been so happy in her life to hear the words 'let's move out.'

Relief had temporarily blocked out the realization that the men had left their proven protections to make her feel better. Without her, the search for a U.S. based Rom clan would've happened from Detroit. One of them must have seen her shaking from the stress. But she hadn't said anything because, really, where could she have gone?

Apparently, the brothers lived in a supernaturally protected bunker somewhere in Kansas. It was almost a shame Sam had tracked down the Sarzo Clan before they arrived. Kelly's dissatisfaction with monster hunting had not escaped attention. Maybe Monster Hunter HQ would've been more impressive? They'd never know now.

After the sudden adrenaline let-down, Jay curled up with her head on her sister's lap and slept. It was sixteen hours to Lady Lucia, FL; she stayed unconscious for most of them. The other passengers stayed quiet for her sake.

Until they got close and Dean started singing anyway.

"...gypsies, tramps and thieves!"

"Dude, seriously? Cher?" Sam demanded.

"Hey, man. I can't help it if the radio stations around here suck."

"Maybe not. But you could NOT sing along," Sam suggested.

"I have a great voice," Dean declared, putting the car into park. "I could've been a rock star."

Sam snorted. "You're singing the best of Cher, Dean. Cher. How do you even know the words?"

"Yeah, okay. You got a point," Dean conceded, ignoring the question.

Outside the Impala, the Rom RV camp began to stir because of the new arrival. Children went to ground, vanishing away from the danger they may represent. Women opened their doors to better hear the goings on. The menfolk arranged themselves in what Sam and Dean recognized as a defensive ring: close enough to limit stranger's movements but far enough apart to not trip over each other in a fight. Tellingly, the strategy was relaxed and natural. They knew what they were doing.

"How do you want to play this?" Sam asked, entirely willing to defer to his brother on point of strategy. Some of his strategies were completely off the wall crazy. But all too often, crazy works.

Dean smirked, "That's what we went shopping for."

The elder Winchester popped out of the driver's seat, with one hand on the roof and one hand on the door to show his empty-handed harmlessness. "Hey there, fellas," he greeted, acting for all the world like they were old friends. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to the trunk. "I brought beer. Can we talk?" he asked, plastering a hearty good old boy grin across his face.

White teeth of a grin flashed from behind an impressive black mustache. The big dusky-skinned man it belonged to gestured to the others to stand down. "Welcome. Share our fire and your beer and we will talk. I am called Branje."

"I'm Dean," he introduced, then dropped a twenty-four pack into his brother's arms. "This is Sam." The girls were handed peanuts and pretzels as they were introduced. Then his picked up another twenty-four pack for himself.

Gradually, as beer mellowed the whole party, the camp relaxed. Dean told beer and bar jokes around the central bonfire. And while the humor was sophmoric at best, the Rom men laughed at the stories' antics.

"So, the beer was welcome and the entertainment pleasant, but business must come." Branje announced. "What brings you fine people to our humble home?"

"We," Dean gestured between the four, "have a problem. And thought maybe you would help."

"We," Branje gestured wide enough to encompass all the RVs "are not mercenaries, _gadje_ , to be paid to do the work that you find distasteful."

"Whoa, hold your horses. It ain't like that." Dean held up his hands to show how misunderstood he was, then ruined the innocent look by continuing. "If dirty deeds need doing, or something needs dying, I do my own work."

Dark eyebrows rose in surprise. "Then what problem do you bring to the Sarzo Clan?"

" _Cel care Urmeaza._ " Sam knew that his brother would never pronounce the words correctly. He could, he had back in the warehouse. But Sam knew he wouldn't on principle. He didn't know what principle the man was upholding, but he knew because... Dean was Dean. Explanation enough, really.

Branje threw his head back and laughed long and deep. "Don't tell me you modern, scientifically reasoned _gadje_ believe in that old ghost story?"

"After what I've seen?" Jay said, just loud enough to be heard. "Absolutely. I do."

"So do you," Sam added. "Why else would you waste good money on real silver for your _raul sa fie plecat_ protection charms? There are cheaper, more flashy metals to impress the tourists that don't tarnish in this humidity. But they're only effective if made in real, pure silver."

"Its how we knew we came to the right place," Dean added.

A cackle sounded in the dusk. An old woman, at least ninety if not a hundred, kicked her cotton-candy pink RV door open to join the men around the fire.

" _Bara._ " Branje nodded respectfully.

Even though Sam was seated, he didn't have to look up at the four foot ten great-great grandmother.

She cackled again. "I am Abelia-Roo; I rule this clan. Tell me, why should I bother sending your Urmeaza away? What do Rom care if you _gadje_ are dying? Your people certainly never cared about us."

 **A/N:** ** _gadje_** **means "outsider,"** ** _raul sa fie plecat_** **means "evil be gone," and** ** _Bara_** **means "sister" in Romani. Gadje and Bara are commonly used. Raul sa fie plecat I had google translate for me.**


	10. Negotiations

"Out of the goodness of your heart?" Dean offered, knowing it'd just make her laugh.

Which it did. Loudly. Answer enough.

"Aw, come on, lady. Use up that last little bit of kindness in you little shriveled heart," Dean cajoled. "That way you won't have any left to bother your conscience."

Sam stared at his brother, barely able to believe Dean would just out and out say something like that to her face.

Abelia-Roo just laughed some more, clearly bemused and not offended at all.

"Please," Jay begged, more tears welling in her eyes. "Please help. I didn't do anything to your clan or your people. Why would you want to kill me?"

Abelia-Roo snorted derisively. "I'm not killing you, _tarfa mica_. You are killing you. I am allowing natural selection happen. It is my duty to the human race."

"Your duty to the human race?" Sam repeated incredulous. "I've found over a three dozen people dead from this thing in the last year. What about your duty as a human being?"

Abelia-Roo cackled. "Honestly? My only duty is to my clan. I was lying about caring for the rest of humanity."

Dean sighed. How his little brother could still uphold such innocence was beyond him. He would have thought that Sam knew how the world worked by now. "How much?"

"Hmm?" the gypsy queen prompted, as though she didn't know what he was asking.

"How much is the going rate for removing a curse?" Dean elaborated. He knew what she was after: financial support of her clan. She was a con artist through and through, this one.

"Standard rate is ten thousand dollars," she informed them with a wicked smile.

"Ten Gs?" Kelley exclaimed. "You're kidding me, right? Where are we supposed to get that kind of money? I'm barely making ends meet as a college student."

"Still not my problem, _sfrijit._ " Abelia-Roo picked at the hem of her shawl for a moment. No one believed that the gesture was anything but deliberate. "But you have a point. No one carries around that kind of cash. And I would hate to loose out on this opportunity if you are killed collecting my fees. Perhaps we should think of something else." Idly she added, "That is a fine piece of classic machinery, your Impala. A '67, correct? I might be willing to trade."

"SAM!" Dean whipped his head around to his brother, physically unable to keep looking at the old woman or her insane ideas.

Unperturbed, Abelia-Roo continued, "I'm sure we can find you a nice Yugo as part of the trade to leave in. Since the Rom cannot expect four _gadje_ to do something as strenuous as walking."

"Yugo? Sam!" Dean repeated, a slight note of hysteria in his voice. "She wants to trade Baby for a freaking Yugo? One of Car and Driver's worst cars in history!"

Sam put a restraining hand on Dean shoulder before the older man could do something drastic about the gypsy's idea of an offer. "Dean, we're not trading the car. Calm down."

Kelly's eyes flickered between brothers, confused and upset. "We're not? Well, we should!" she snapped. "Its just a car. Would you really die over a stupid car? Would you really get Jay killed over a stupid hunk of metal?"

"Hey! God himself called that car the most important object in the history of the universe," Dean snarled. "We are NOT giving up the Impala."

"Kelly, calm down," Sam ordered. "We are not letting your sister die, either. Abelia-Roo. The car is not on the negotiations table. We're Hunters, me and my brother, and the Impala is set up with hidden compartments and some pretty strong wardings. We need her. How about an angel blade as payment? One of those can be very handy when trying to protect an entire clan."

Abelia-Roo's eyes widened in sudden realization and surprise. "Sam and Dean. Hunter brothers. Angel blade. YOU are the Winchesters? The men that the King of Hell once called 'denim-clad nightmares?'"

Dean finally turned his attention back to the woman beside them. "Aww, Crowley talkin' about us behind our back? 'Denim-clad nightmares, huh? That's actually pretty nice of him, don't you think Sammy?"

Sam snorted and muttered, "Yeah, he's a real sweetheart." Out loud, he said, "Yeah, that's us, the freakin' Winchesters."

"Huh." Abelia-Roo cocked her head, studying the pair. "I thought you'd be bigger."

Dean's entire face went taut and his head tilted to one side, eyes rolling up as if seeking help from a higher power, or mentally running through the selection of weapons he'd tucked into his clothing to decide which would be best to threaten the small person in front of him. Bigger? His little brother was plenty big enough, thank you very much.

Tremulously, Jay asked, "Does this mean you'll help us?"

Shrewd dark eyes turned on the very pale woman. "This must be this week's damsel in distress. You would defend the woman who tried to make you dead? She must have been the one to pass the Urmeaza to you."

Guilt and shame flooded onto Jay's face, but she didn't argue. She had done everything the old woman accused her of. Knowingly, she'd condemned Dean to the same nightmare.

"She was a victim, too," Dean defended easily. "We can give her one pass."

"Alright," Abelia-Roo announced, "Final offer, _gadje_ : two angel blades and the promise of one favor from the Winchesters to the Sarzo Clan in exchange for the removal of the _Cel Care Urmeaza_."

"You do realize we won't do anything outside our morals, right?" Dean drawled. "We'll come back and gank any monster problem or help you get spell ingredients or something like that. But we have lines we will not cross."

"Oh, alright," Abelia-Roo sighed. "I suppose I can expect no less from the likes of Winchesters. But when I call, you must drop everything and come."

"As soon as we can," Sam corrected. "Trust me, we handle things that you don't want us to put on the back burner sometimes."

"Yeah, like the whole fix the sun before all life on earth dies thing," Dean explained. "But we will come fast, when you cash your chip in. Deal?"

Abelia-Roo nodded sharply. "Deal." Then a scary look took over her face as she grinned at Dean and batted her eyelashes. "Shall we kiss on it? In the grand tradition of deal making?"

Dean shuddered, suddenly looking green around the gills. "No, thanks. I'll pass. Sammy?"

Sam huffed. "I think a handshake should be enough."

 **A/N:** ** _tarfa mica_** **means "little bitch," and** ** _sfrijit_** **means "scrawny."**


	11. Cured at Last!

If anybody had asked her three years ago if Jay believed in magic, she would have laughed. Or explained that she never gave the matter any real thought, since life after a suicidal father and the start of a college career was complicated enough that she didn't have spare attention for flights of fancy. Oh sure, there was magic tricks: sleight of hand or smoke and mirrors or whatnot. But real sorcery? Nope. Such things were best left in books and movies where the laws of physics don't have to apply. Magic wasn't real; its just a plot device to make heroes stand up and fight.

Then came sex with Hugh/Jeff. And the monster, death and running in its wake. The supernatural was real and its was cold, dark, and bitter. Living under its shadow for so long... Well, as a little girl she'd always wanted to ride a unicorn. Say a unicorn trailing rainbows made an appearance these days? Jay wouldn't be surprised if the thing tried to impale her on its sparkly horn. Or keep her prisoner while withholding food unless she brushed its coat or braided flowers into its mane.

If any body had asked her if she believed in magic three days ago, just after Paul's death, she would have cried. Magic was just another word for monsters and curses and death.

Now? Watching the Sarzo Clan work their preparations, magic had become hope.

Abelia-Roo sat like the queen she was, enthroned on a seat of cushions, overseeing the operation. The work was punctuated by her harsh orders and berations of everyone involved.

Unperturbed by his boss's insults, Branje carried a bag of pure salt and walked around the clearing pouring the salt in an elaborate line of curls and stylized jaggedness. He had spent almost twenty minutes studying the old parchment the Winchesters had provided before attempting to reproduce the spellwork in real life. Still, it didn't come out right. Broom in hand, that attempt was swept away and the second attempt was coming along nicely.

A girl called Tshilaba darted in and out of the salt lines, always careful not to disturb even a grain of salt. In the empty spaces of the salt design, the gypsy girl stooped to paint intricate sigils on the hard-packed dirt. Delicate hands dipped a paint brush into a silver cup and fluttered light strokes. Branje's twenty minutes had bought time for Tshilaba to do some studying of her own.

As for her paint... Well. Dean insisted that the cut on his forearm wasn't that bad. That knotted (but clean) bandanna tied tightly around the wound certainly attested to his lack of real concern. The spell required "blood of one who is doomed" and specific herbs mixed together as the medium. Neither brother had wanted to cut into her skin and make her bleed.

Chivalry wasn't completely dead these days, and for some reason it wore plaid.

Preparations complete, Dean lead her to the appropriate spot. The big man had to tip-toe around the lines and paintings. Not an easy feat when the hunter wore size 11 steel toe boots with heavy soles and a distinct lack of flexibility. (Granted, they were ideal for kicking open doors or stomping a ghoul's head, but not for this.) Jay picked her way along the same path in his wake.

Abelia-Roo banged her cane on the ground to signal it was time to begin. A man named Kalakos touched a match to the candle beside her. The gypsy queen began to chant. The formerly scratchy and abrasive old woman's voice gained strength as the lines flowed.

Jay shuddered at the power gathering around her, made all the more awesome by her lack of comprehension of the Romani language.

Tshilaba added her young, sweetly-tuned voice to the chant at the start of the second recitation. Her words flowed in and around her mentor's, but never matched them. They provided a fitting harmony to an already eerie scene.

A sharp clap from two set's of hands punctuated the moment that the Urmeaza appeared. It stood in a complete circle of salt, completely still. Still, except for the eyes. It glared death and murder at Dean and Jay. Back and forth, between the two; like It couldn't decide who It wanted to kill more.

Kelly screamed in shock and flung herself behind Sam's back. Sam, standing outside the design but close at hand, vented a surprised grunt. His salt gun snapped up in undisguised aim, but didn't fire. The Romani men, muttered quietly to each other in amazement. Clearly, Dean and Jay weren't the only ones to see the creature among them. Most of the men there, like Kelly, had never seen a monster so close before. Unlike Kelly, they had a reputation of machoism to maintain. No Rom let themselves yell out at the sight.

Another sharp clap, and the Urmeaza began to screech its rage to the sky. Before their eyes it switched from the man in a backwards hospital gown, to a naked Japanese woman, to a scraggly homeless man: all the forms used on Dean. On an on the forms went until It cycled back to Jay's father, Greg, Greg's mom, and all the stranger's Jay recognized from her own initiation to this nightmare.

"Its rewinding," Dean whispered. "Retaking every form Its ever wore."

Faster and faster the forms flickered by: men, women, old, young, healthy, bizarre. As they watched, the forms that wore clothing slowly began to show the change in decades. All the way back to a civil war southern belle, complete with her hoop skirts torn and her bodice ripped open.

With a final sharp clap, the Urmeaza exploded into dust. The gypsy women stopped their chanting, and silence descended on the camp.

"That..." Dean pointed a finger at the empty space where the Urmeaza once stood. "That was... Why in the hell would a sex monster curse look like a seventy-five year old grandma attached to an IV pole? Did It need more of a challenge or something?"

"Dean," Sam laughed.

"No, seriously, the thing is only allowed to walk so It picked the slowest moving human in existence? What's with that?" Dean stepped off his mark and started walking to his brother.

Jay skittered around him to her Kelly's embrace.

"Doesn't really matter anymore, now does it?" Sam asked, smiling at the sisters. "It's gone."

Jay cried again then. But they were tears of joy.


End file.
